Difficult Sometimes
by Falfaly
Summary: Han/Leia. "You make things so difficult sometimes." "I do. I really do." We all have one in our inventory-Flight to Bespin Hanky-Panky. This is mine, originally from 1998, revised to update canon and make amends for Han's actions in ESB. (Warnings: l, a)


_**Difficult Sometimes**_

by CorellianBlue

(first published 1998, revised 2015 and 2020)

_Warnings: language, adult situations_

* * *

_Han Solo._

Every time Leia Organa thought about him, the muscles in her neck and shoulders tightened, pulling and cramping under her skin as if to breaking point. She couldn't help _but_ think about him, after all, she was in _his_ cabin, on _his_ bunk and wearing _his_ shirt. And not much else.

Leia's gaze flickered tiredly back to the datapad on her lap. For the fifth time she re-read the unfinished section of the report she had been composing. The Aurebesh characters glowed and blurred, a mess of incorrectly spelled words and poor grammatical structure. Sentences hung half-finished, their analysis and arguments suspended in mid-thought.

The princess struggled to focus on the report, grappling with her wandering concentration and forcing herself to read what she had typed. She scanned the screen again, the bottom of her lip tucked up under her teeth, breath whispering through her nostrils. The section would have to be re-written—like her thoughts, it made no sense.

One small finger stabbed at the keypad with a mixture of cold indifference and useless anger as Leia attempted to correct her mistakes. She had written these briefing reports before, in less time and under more adverse and stressful conditions. She could write them—practically _had_ written them—in her sleep. Why was it that this usually simple task was now proving so difficult?

_You make things so difficult sometimes._

With a brutal, unsatisfying finality, Leia deleted the last hour's work from the datapad's memory, punched the _TERMINATE_ button and hoisted the terminal onto the adjacent desk. The datapad slew across the desktop, toppling a collection of scribes, tools, disassembled relays, spare parts and data disks to the deck with a clatter that _did_ provide her with some satisfaction.

Resolutely ignoring the mess that her actions had created—_After all,_ she thought with more than a touch of superiority, _Han ignores most messes he creates_—Leia uncurled her legs and stretched them down the length of the sleeping pallet. She adjusted the fabric of the dark blue dress shirt around her knees, then scissored her torso down onto her legs, her hands reaching for the arches of her bare feet. Her loose hair fell around her face, shoulders and legs, stray strands lifting in the currents of recirculated air. She lay her face against her knees as she completed the stretch, seeking some temporary relief for her tight muscles.

_...so difficult sometimes..._

Leia ruefully considered how she must look a sight in the shirt that was many sizes too big for her. Han's shirt. The traditionally tight stand collar was loose around her small neck, the shoulder seams hung halfway down her arms, and she had rolled the long sleeves up around her elbows. The grey merle underwear—Han's underwear—were also too big her, sitting lightly around her hips and the loose pouch of material against her lower abdomen a constant reminder of what it usually contained.

For long moments Leia lay there quietly, listening to her breathing and trying to relax away the gristly knot of tension that bunched within her.

_...so difficult..._

Had it only been less than two days—around 30 hours—since the Empire had ambushed the Rebel base on Hoth? Thirty hours since the Empire had effortlessly crushed two companies of the Alliance's best troops. Thirty hours since Han—_Why are you still here?_—had rushed into the remains of the command centre and insisted that she leave.

_C'mon. That's it._

Leia readily admitted that Han's actions had saved her yet again. If Han hadn't arrived, she probably would have continued issuing orders right up until stormtroopers had burst into the base and carted her off to a detention centre. Leia only hoped those staff who had remained behind with her had successfully made it to their transport. Gods knew, Leia hadn't, which was why she was now stuck on the _Falcon_ as it limped towards Bespin on its painfully slow back-up hyperdrive.

Although Leia was grateful for Han's unexpected and selfless rescue, she hadn't let on to the Corellian how much she appreciated him because it would only further complicate their relationship and who she thought he was. The Han Solo Leia wanted to be certain of was a smuggler and drug runner; a mercenary who only looked out for himself and his Wookiee partner. That Han Solo refused to commit to the Alliance and had practically yelled at her back on Hoth that he wasn't committed to her either.

However, Leia had also grown to know a different man to the one who hid behind the barrel of a DL-44 blaster pistol. That Han Solo was a natural leader and an accomplished pilot. That Han Solo provided an invaluable service to the Alliance on a daily basis, even if it was for a reasonable sum of credits and without formally accepting a commission.

Leia knew from the many missions they had been on together that Han could be kind and considerate, astute and a good companion. He made her laugh. Not to mention make her fantasise things about a man that a princess really shouldn't be thinking.

_You want me to stay because of the way you feel about me._

A bile-bitter taste rose in the back of Leia's throat and she levered herself upright as a chill swept through her. A sudden image of Luke had crashed through her musings.

Luke would surely be at the Alliance rendezvous point by now, and worrying about where she and Han were. Leia had no proof that Luke had escaped during the retreat from Hoth. She just simply _knew_ he was alive, but her concern for his well-being had been gradually rubbing against her thoughts like an annoying blister. Something didn't feel quite right. She had a bad feeling.

Leia self-consciously glanced over her shoulder and down at the accusing mess of equipment she had let fall to the deck. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, she couldn't. It wasn't like her to leave such disorder, to have little or no regard for another's possessions. To be like Han.

_You like me because I'm a scoundrel._

Resolving to push Luke's well-being and Han's... well, Han _in general_, from her mind, Leia swung her legs off the bunk and crouched down next to the desk. Despite the warmth of the cabin, the deckplates were cold against her feet. The shirt tails covered her knees and brushed against the flooring as she collected the equipment.

Leia tried to ignore the juvenile thoughts that traipsed through her mind—_How does Han hold this scribe? This multi-tool?_—as she returned the pieces to the desktop. She shuffled the data disks, her fingers tracing the titles, not certain what she would find. _CEC YT-1300 Stock Light Freighter: Specifications and Maintenance Manual. Ship's Log: Back-up Copy. Advanced Interspatial Quantum Physics and Nonlinear Hyperspace Geometry._

_...difficult..._

Leia closed her eyes and packed the remaining unread disks together. She didn't want to think any more about _that_ man than she possibly had to. Wasn't it bad enough that she was stuck on this bucket of bolts, this excuse for a starship? But to have him so near to her, with no other distractions, no other people, nothing to do...it just made things more complex.

_Difficult._

Clearing her throat as she stood, Leia returned the data disks to the desk and climbed back onto the bunk. She chided herself for letting the situation get the better of her. The internal coiled spring that normally propelled her forward and onward had progressively tightened since Hoth, cranking up by notches, increasing the tension within her. But she now had time to relax, unwind and recuperate before they made it back to the Alliance. Plenty of time. How long had Han told her it would take to get to Bespin? Four Standard weeks—around 40 days—once he and Chewbacca had gotten the back-up hyperdrive on-line. The Corellian and Wookiee had managed to repair and switch-over to the Class 10 stand-by unit without too much arguing, swearing and barked knuckles, and that had only taken about four hours. So, what did that leave: over 39 days until they reached Bespin? A few days on Bespin for repairs, and then perhaps another week or two before they would be able to locate the rest of the Rebel fleet. So possibly six or seven weeks, all up. That shouldn't be too hard for Leia to take things a bit easy, assuming Han left her alone. Assuming she could leave Han alone.

Leia crossed her arms in front of her chest and rubbed her aching shoulders, her fingers massaging deep into cramped muscle. She tried to clear her mind, let the currents of air carry away her thoughts and worries, but a mote of a headache pulsed at her temple and she tried to will it away. The ache had been persisting in her skull over the last hours, threatening to develop into a horrendous migraine, but not progressing past an annoying thump. She had hoped the restorative powers of a real water shower in this cabin's personal refresher suite would have washed the headache away and improved her mood, even if the precious water was recycled and grey.

Leia had felt marginally better, until her plan to run her white combat outfit through the _Falcon's_ valet unit on a wet/dry program had faltered. Unfortunately, but predictably as with any piece of equipment on this clapped out freighter, the auto-valet had ceased operation halfway through the drying cycle. Leia's damp clothes, including her underwear, now hung next to the auto-valet and she'd been forced to raid Han's minuscule closet to find something to wear. She had slipped into a pair of the figure-hugging boxer briefs he favoured, knowing full well that it would fuel his fantasies for years to come if he ever found out, and as she had never seen him wear this formal shirt she didn't think he would mind if she wore it.

_I don't care even if he does mind,_ she amended to herself.

A spasm jerked through her left shoulder and she dug her fingers hard into her skin, probing for the origin of her discomfort. She grimaced as she kneaded the knots, her fingertips pushing into the fabric of the shirt. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, inhaled softly, she could detect Han's uniquely masculine scent in the weave of the fabric. Just as she had when she had first climbed onto his bunk.

_I'm lying on Han Solo's bunk. I'm wearing Han's shirt. Gods, I'm wearing his underwear._

Part of her was uncomfortable with the subtext of a woman wearing a man's clothes, of sitting on his bed, of the intimacy it implied.

_His underwear!_

Leia wondered how many women had already been in her place, in Han's bed, wearing his clothes, partaking in post-coital fondling.

But the logical side of her mind reasoned that there was no point in being coy, especially when they were light years away from anyone who could pass judgement, particularly the Alliance High Command. Besides, was it really anyone's business if she decided to act on her long-ignored fantasies? That is, _if_ she wanted to. Half the Rebel Alliance already thought she and Han were lovers. Why not simply ratify what everyone thought and whispered about? She wouldn't put it past the Alliance rumour-mill to have already concocted some story of kidnap and debauchery when she and Han had failed to make it to the rendezvous point.

_Kidnap and debauchery._ For all she knew, that was precisely what Han in mind. After all, he _had_ insisted that Leia take his cabin, and when she thought back on it perhaps a little too insistently. Leia was uncertain whether his generosity had been tainted with a healthy dose of Corellian lechery. She seriously doubted that he merely wanted her to have the best _(best?!)_ accommodation on the _Falcon_. At the very least, allowing Leia to use his cabin meant that she would be continually reminded of him.

Of course, he could also have wanted her to do some light housekeeping. His cabin had been as disarrayed as his mind, and Leia had spent the first hour tidying it up, hanging up clothes that were strewn across the bunk, removing used meal containers and ration wrappings, and providing the small desk with some semblance of order. Apart from Chewbacca's rather neat and dark cabin, the other storage holds and compartments were full of packing cases, rations, equipment, spare parts and other pieces of junk.

Leia didn't know where Han was intending to sleep, and she told herself that she didn't really care. She might have lied to herself about a lot of things, but she knew why she couldn't afford to be near Han and unfortunately he was only half her worry. Her long-ignored fantasies were the other half. She didn't trust herself _not_ to act on them. Didn't trust herself _not_ to wipe that stupid lopsided smile from his face by kissing him again. And kissing him would lead to sleeping with him.

_Fucking him, _she told herself harshly. _Don't sugar coat it. You want to fuck the gorgeous smuggler who's been driving you crazy for the last three years, and get rid of that nasty shadow of virginity handing over your head._

If she hadn't had been so inexperienced and caught up in her work she might have taken advantage of him during their trip to the Corporate Sector, or even Ord Mantell before that bounty hunter showed up and ruined the party.

History had already proven that Han did not need much encouragement. _Use a good kiss? _He may as well have growled out to her and anyone within earshot that he would take her there in the south passage, press her up against the carved ice walls and fuck her until she begged him _not_ to leave.

_Just get it over with, _she reasoned._ Fuck him, if only to bring your hormones under control, and then let him fly away. With the rest of the garbage._

A sliver of ice speared down Leia's spine. Hunching her shoulders painfully, Leia gripped her arms across her chest and shivered. The air on her face and legs was warm, but she felt a bone-deep chill settle within her. She adjusted her position as she leaned heavily against the bulkhead, curling her legs under her and pulling the shirt over her bare feet.

She wondered if she could really do that. Have sex with Han just to satisfy her basic urges, knowing that their relationship had nowhere to go and then let him leave without a second glance from either of them.

A knock at the door broke the spell.

"Yes?" Leia touched the remote for the door.

Han stood there, his hair wet, moisture glistening on his bare chest, naked save for a towel wrapped around his waist. He'd obviously used the secondary 'fresher.

_How typically subtle of you, Han, _she thought, annoyed that he wasn't making this easier for her, but she found herself staring at him, appreciating the lean, muscular lines of his body. The playful smirk on his face and glint in his eye suggested he had wanted to shock or entice her with his brazen actions, wanting any sort of a response from her in preference to her indifference.

"What do you want?" she asked, trying to tame her treacherous lips from lifting at the corners.

Han smiled suggestively and leaned against the hatchway. His chin tilted towards her challengingly.

"What have you got in mind?"

When only she sat she there staring at him blankly, all emotion successfully removed from her face, he made a disappointed sigh and scratched at his cheek.

"I want to get some clean clothes. Don't worry, I won't be long."

As he entered the cabin, Han frowned at the foreign state of cleanliness and order. He looked around from deckplates to bulkheads, nodding approvingly.

"You've cleaned up in here," he declared.

"That's the only reason you let me use your cabin, isn't it?" Leia cocked a suspicious eyebrow.

"Good point," Han agreed as he wiped his hand across the desk, rubbed his fingers together in search of dust. "I did think the place could use a woman's touch. I'm just surprised that a princess like you would be up to it."

Leia let the spiteful, chauvinistic comment lay where it had fallen, her eyes hardening discernibly as she added this remark to the list of his faults she was accumulating.

"You've impressed me, though," Han conceded as his inspection continued. "Dusted, made the bunk, taken out the garbage—"

"Oh, I'm sure there's still plenty more garbage on this trash hauler that needs to be dealt with, Han," Leia interrupted sweetly, an insincere smile across her face.

He smirked at her, enjoying their interchange. The movements of his body slowed, and his shoulders tilted towards her. Leia watched as his smirk became a sensual twist of his lips, his skin glowing as his face displayed a change in his thoughts. He moved towards the bunk.

"I'll bet you're good at lots of things, Princess." His voice was a rich rumble in her ear.

Without hesitation, she bit back, "More than you'll ever know, flyboy."

Her response ignited a spark in his eyes. _This is getting dangerous,_ she warned herself. _Do you really want this to continue?_

Struggling to keep her breathing regular, Leia dropped her gaze and studied her work-torn fingernails, hoping he would interpret her silence as disinterest and maybe hurry up and leave. With her hair falling across her brow and face, she was shielded from his intense stare, and the repressed tension between them noticeably thinned. Her composure returned with each shallow breath. Through lowered eyelashes, she watched his approach lose its intensity. He casually banked right and passed by the bunk.

"I'll bet you're a pretty good cook as well," he tentatively suggested.

That nearly made her laugh. "I'm afraid you don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm only trying to be nice," he protested a touch tetchily.

"By commenting on my domestic abilities?" Leia shook her head indulgently. "You think that might be a way to get into my good books?" _Or anywhere else._

"I thought that's what women liked to hear."

Leia favoured him with a small, condescending smile. _He's serious. _"That shows how little you know about women, Han."

"I'm beginning to realise that," he quietly agreed. "But y'know, Your Highness, I reckon whoever is lucky enough to marry you won't care if you can't cook or clean."

"Why?" she challenged. "Because the servants will do that for them?"

"No," he grumbled. "I mean, um…see if…ah…I mean if I was married to you I wouldn't…" His thoughts stumbled to a halt as he realised she was staring at him curiously. "I don't know what I mean," he added dismissively.

"That's two of us," Leia teased.

Han cleared his throat, palmed open the door to the closet and tried again. "You're wearing your hair different."

Leia frowned. "Different?"

"Yeah."

"I wore it loose in the Corporate Sector," she reminded him.

"But not all the way down." He glanced over his shoulder at the clothes hanging from the rack but was focused on Leia. "I like it all the way down. It makes you look more at ease, relaxed. This is a first."

With a vaguely wicked touch to her lips, Leia mimicked his gesture and drawling Corellian accent.

"This is a first for me too, seeing you half-naked."

Han grinned lopsidedly at her. "Well, Princess, you know how I hate to do things by halves," he said, dropping the towel from his waist as he turned towards the closet.

Leia caught more than a glimpse—the firm flesh of buttocks, an indentation of hip, the muscle definition of his thigh, a hint of pubic hair and the slight swing of genitals—before she averted her eyes. How she managed to keep from ogling him further was beyond her. It was not the first time she had seen a naked man, nor would it be the last. She might have wanted to see more, but his actions were unexpected, uncalled for and imprudent. If she hadn't wanted to fuck him so much, she might even have called it harassment.

_Why does he always have to ruin things? Why must he make things so difficult?_

Leia grit her teeth, the muscles in her neck tightening again.

"You can look again," Han sang out.

Not trusting him or herself, Leia gave him a few more moments before she glanced up. His back was still towards her, the muscles on his shoulder blades flexing and stretching as he settled a pair of dark trousers over his hips. He turned towards her, smiling brilliantly, immensely pleased with himself, as he buckled his belt.

Leia snapped, "Han Solo, _you_ are incorrigible!" Her back straightened and she pushed the hair from her face. "How dare you waltz in here, flaunting your wares like some back-street party boy who's after a few quick credits before closing time! One day, someone not as forgiving as me will call you out and you'll find yourself in so much trouble who won't know what's hit you."

Han's smile faded, his arrogance waning in the storm of her indignation, and he stared at her solemnly.

"Do you want me to leave, Leia?"

_Yes! No! _She hesitated, her mouth screwed up in uncertainty. The longer she sat there looking at him, the less she knew what to say. _Fuck._

"It's your cabin," Leia finally muttered.

She tried not to sigh with relief when he sat down on the far end of the bunk. His weight shifted the mattress and he dabbed the water from his chest with the towel, searching for something inoffensive to say.

"That shirt looks better on you than it ever did on me," he ventured, tousling the towel across his head.

"I'm lucky I found something clean," she lightly rebuked. "You don't have much of a wardrobe to choose from."

He scowled and dipped one shoulder dismissively. "I'm no fashion victim."

"Obviously," she muttered to herself, then added pleasantly, "I hope you don't mind." _Liar._

She watched as he scrunched the towel into a loose ball and tossed it to a corner, not surprised that he seemed unconcerned with the disorder he was creating.

"I can't even remember the last time I wore that," he said, trying to comb his damp hair with his fingers.

Only just hold back from shaking her head, Leia's gaze moved from the discarded towel to his ineffectual grooming attempts. _So that's where the scruffy hair comes from, _she mused. _Does the man own a brush or comb?_

"You're nothing if but consistent, Han."

"Consistent, but not predictable?" he asked.

The colour of his eyes shifted grey-green, grateful for the unvoiced forgiveness she offered him. She returned his contrite smile, thinking it was probably the most of an apology she'd get from him.

Leia looked down at her hands again, studying the dry lines of her fingers. An uncomfortable silence descended, and her pulse drummed in her ears.

"You've been avoiding me," Han finally said.

"No, I haven't." She'd said that just a little too quickly, defensively.

"Have I done something wrong?" He grimaced, no doubt recalling his stunt with the towel. "I mean, apart from usual."

His penitent question was unexpected. How could she reply to that? He hadn't specifically _done_ anything wrong—he _was _everything wrong.

"I just need some time to myself," she said softly, glancing up at him. She cringed at the lameness of her explanation. Even to her own ears, she sounded like an inexperienced schoolgirl breaking up with her first boyfriend.

He looked at her earnestly. "I thought we'd been getting along so well."

"We have been," she admitted with a wistful purse of her lips. _A little _too_ well._

"It's a nice change," he continued, maintaining his momentum. "I was planning on getting used to it."

"I wouldn't if I was you. You're leaving, after all." In reply to the crease in his brow, she added, "And you know our truces never last very long. We seem to get along better when we leave each other alone."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" Her edged riposte caused him to slightly flinch. Rubbing her stiff neck, Leia levelled her tone. "I'm tired, Han. I'm tired of fighting and struggling with you." _And fighting and struggling with myself._

"What d'you mean?" He seemed incredulous. "We don't fight all the time."

"Yes, we do," she said simply, hoping that if they kept arguing she'd be less inclined to bed him.

"No, we don't."

"We do," she insisted. "It's some sort of defective Corellian gene. You always argue with me."

"Nah, that's just banter, 's'all." He looked concerned.

"Han," she spoke to him slowly, as if to a child, "you _always_ argue with me. I could say the sky is blue and you'd give me five reasons why it's any other colour but."

His sneer made it easier for her to continue, as if she was reading from that list she was compiling, convincing herself how _wrong_ and _difficult_ he was.

"And when you aren't being argumentative or difficult, you're being flippant, sarcastic, rude, obnoxious. Not to mention all those nasty names you call me."

"No way!" he cut her off. "There's no way I'm like that! You make me sound like I'm an arrogant, argumentative son-of-a—"

"Have you listened to yourself?" She couldn't believe they were having this disagreement. "Why is it so difficult for you just to have a conversation with me without it escalating into an argument or a test of wills? Why do you always want to fight…with…me?"

Leia's torrent slowed as she realised he was softly chuckling to himself, laughing at a private joke.

He gave her a dazzling smile. "You're easy to tease. And you react so well, Your Highnessness." He winked and added, "Ness."

Leia felt her cheeks flush, embarrassed that he had caught her out so easily and now worried that they weren't really arguing. If they didn't argue, what else were they going to do, in his cabin, on his bed?

"Honestly, sometimes you act like a little boy who enjoys pulling my hair just to get my attention."

Han shrugged. "It works, doesn't it?" His playful demeanour changed. "But, go on. I can have a decent conversation with you. You'd be surprised."

He swung his legs up onto the bunk and sat opposite her with his legs crossed. He scratched the arch of one large foot and leaned forward. "What do you want to talk about?"

Resting his forearms on his long legs, hair damp, face clean-shaven and fresh, he looked younger, almost different for some unfathomable reason. Leia briefly imagined what he looked like as a gangly teenager, roaming the streets of Corellia, on the prowl for trouble and excitement. The gulf in their individual experiences and upbringings seemed unbridgeable. What did they have in common? What could they possibly talk about? And he had such big feet.

"Why don't we talk about you," she suggested.

"Me? Why me?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, you've been with the Alliance—"

"I am _not_ with the Alliance."

Leia smiled indulgently. "Are you arguing with me again, Captain?"

"No, it's just—"

"Do I detect a certain tone in your voice?"

Han immediately raised his palms in submission. "All right, I surrender. You win." His mouth screwed up to one side. "Wanna talk about me, huh? There's nothing to tell. I'm sure there's more important things we can talk about." He winked. "Or do."

Despite the air of casualness, Leia detected his hesitant behaviour. _Let him squirm a bit,_ she thought. _Get a taste of his own medicine for a change._

"'There's nothing to tell'," she parodied, "or you don't tell nothing?"

He sighed and muttered something unintelligible to himself.

"Sorry, Han?" Leia asked with great exaggeration. "Did you say something?"

Still resting an elbow on his leg, he brought a hand up to his head and heavily rested his chin in his palm. "You're not gonna let me get away from this," he asked, "are you?"

"You were the one who said you could talk _and_ think at the same time," she teased. "Don't tell me you over-estimated your abilities."

He sighed again, a pained expression straining his face. "Why me?" he asked simply.

She gave him a simple answer. "We've known each other for a few years, and yet I know virtually nothing about you. You don't let much out." _Or much in._

Without further hesitation, he gracefully slipped into his standard patter, his mouth half hidden behind his curled fingers. "I always say play your cards close to the chest."

"And why's that, Han?"

He frowned, then recognition lit his face. He sat upright and raised a lecturing finger. "Don't try to psychoanalyse me, Princess." He pointed to himself. "I am the way I am and that's all anyone needs to know. About me or my motives."

Leia smirked at his abrupt defensiveness. The corner of his mouth dropped as if a fault in his shields had revealed a weakness. He glowered at her, then half-laughed.

"Besides, you can talk," he retorted. "Sitting up there in that high-and-mighty tower of yours. Unflagging dedication to your responsibilities, your duty." He emphasised the words as if this was a fault of hers, a misguided dalliance. "Impervious to all. So cold and hard that sometimes I think your face would crack if you smiled."

His inconsiderate barbs spiked her, even though they had discussed this matter before. She knew he had trouble understanding, or refused to understand, why the Rebel Alliance was so important to her.

"You take life too seriously," Han added quietly, as if realising he had been arguing with her—again—and supposing that he had said too much. "I think you need to loosen up. Let go. Enjoy yourself for a change."

Leia cocked her head in annoyance. "Unless you hadn't realised, we're in the middle of a war here, _Captain_ Solo."

Han eyes rolled. They'd been through this before too.

"I have responsibilities and obligations. I have people relying on me. People looking to me for direction and leadership."

She knew her speech was lost on him. His head slowly nodding in pseudo agreement only convinced her to continue.

"I've given a commitment to these people, what they stand for, and even to myself. If the Empire is to be stopped, then we must be prepared to make sacrifices, to put our personal dreams and desires on hold. I don't have time to _enjoy_ myself." She wanted to punch the bemused grin from his face. Instead she added, "And I certainly don't have time to walk around with a stupid, lopsided smirk across my face."

"Hey!" His indignant protest at her underhanded jab was only half-joking.

"Besides, we're not talking about me," Leia continued without missing a beat. "You know all about me. The Ice Princess, the Cold Hard Bitch. Isn't that what the contracted pilots call me?"

Not the squadron pilots, but the independents who conducted mercenary operations for the Rebellion. Men and women like Han.

Han made a face as though he'd been caught out.

"It's my turn to find out who you are."

His eyes regarded her warily from under knitted brows. "Hmmm." He didn't sound convinced this was such a good idea.

"Come on," she appealed. "I promise to be gentle with you."

He almost grinned at the change in her tone. "Okay," he agreed. "But I warn you, I bruise awful easy."

"You can show me the scars later."

"I'll hold you to that."

_Watch it,_ Leia warned herself as she readjusted her position and rubbed at her neck. _This may be fun now, but things can get out of hand very quickly._

"Corellian," Leia began, as if reading from her list of _Han Solo Attributes: Good, Bad and Ugly_. "That's a big system. Were you actually born and raised on Corellia?" That seemed like a safe place to start.

"Raised? What, like a grain crop?" Han smiled cheekily at her, determined to go down fighting. "Okay, okay," he quickly amended as she sighed with frustration. "I was born on Corellia, in Coronet City, about 10, 11 years before you were even a twinkle in your father's eye."

It was now Leia's turn to roll her eyes.

"But I wasn't exactly raised. It was more like 'hit-the-ground-running'. I managed to keep my head above water most of the time."

"What does that mean?" she asked. "Have you been in trouble with the authorities throughout your life?"

"Not 'trouble', Leia." His tone carried a touch of indignation. "I've never been 'in trouble' with any authority." His mouth twitched in thought. "'In trouble' with women, I'll give you that much." He grinned at some private memory. "But with the local Corellian police, I prefer to think of it as 'mutual respect'."

Leia raised a sceptical eyebrow, trying to maintain her seriousness despite the infectious smirk plastered across his expressive face. Han shrugged nerfishly.

"Okay, 'trouble' it was," he conceded, adding, "But I was fast enough most times to keep out of their grasp."

_I can imagine._ "So, what were you like as a child?"

"Not much different than I am now. Except shorter."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" She didn't doubt his sardonic quip, after all what she had experienced of his behaviour had often made her draw the same conclusion.

She switched track slightly, searching for a piece to the puzzle that was Han Solo. "What about your parents?"

Han had trouble keeping a straight face. "Yeah. Like you, I had two of 'em."

Leia sighed in exasperation as he grinned again, realising almost as soon as she had asked the question that a sensible response would not be forthcoming. Her query had been too personal. If she wanted to get under that thick hide of his, she needed a recent episode, one that was still reasonably fresh in his mind.

Leia dropped her hands from her shoulders and leaned forward. "When were you at the Imperial Academy?"

The smirk fell from his face, his eyes crystallising into shards of ice as his jaw tightened.

_Direct hit, Leia,_ she congratulated herself.

She knew that much about Han's background thanks to Luke. Han had confided in Luke that he had been learned to fly at the Imperial Academy on Carida. Luke had in turn confided in Leia.

Leia did not condemn Han for having seen service with the Imperial Navy; many of the Alliance's pilots and senior officers had a background in one of the Imperial forces. But this knowledge only added to the confusing conundrum he presented. Han Solo was far more than what he seemed. The man was more than difficult—he was a nightmare.

Han stared at her knowingly. Subdued, he quietly admitted, "A long time ago."

The atmosphere between them carried a hint of bitterness, but at least he had answered her question and remained seated on the bunk, prepared to allow Leia to continue with her interrogation.

Leia asked, "You became a Navy pilot?"

"No. I got booted out before I graduated. Got transferred across to the Army."

That made her stop. Of course, it made sense. There was no way Han would've been able to cope with the discipline of military service, especially Imperial. Instead of discharging him out of the forces altogether, the Empire had wanted to extract blood from stone by making him a soldier.

From his rigid mien, Leia decided she needed to lighten up this conversation before it backfired on her.

"I can't imagine Han Solo as an Imperial," she teased.

He was impassive. "Obviously, neither could they."

Leia cringed as her shoulder muscles spasmed, but she shook her head in a gesture of bewilderment and spoke to him kindly. "Can you help me understand, Han?"

His features had set into a blank mask.

"Why did you enlist in the first place? Why does an intelligent, wild young kid join a militaristic, disciplined outfit like the Imperial Navy? Why did you join the Empire?"

The corner of his mouth contorted into a grimace. "It was the only way to get off planet. The only way I was gonna learn how to fly."

She smiled at him encouragingly, her head nodding slowly, coaxing him to open up to her. His shoulders heaved with a heavy sigh, throat clearing with a cracking sound that emanated deep within his chest.

"I haven't always been like this, Leia," he began, the coldness in his eyes melting. "I was once like you and Luke."

Leia ceased rubbing at her shoulder muscles. Breath suspended between parted lips, she leaned towards him, absorbed by every word he offered.

"I didn't exactly have your level of idealism, or undying faith in the greater good of humanity. But I was foolish enough to have dreams and goals." He shrugged self-deprecatingly. "One of them was to fly. And I was lucky enough to be make it into the Academy's flight training program."

Leia knew luck had nothing to do with it. The selection process for entrance into the flight program was strict and demanding, aimed at selecting the most academically capable and skilled cadets. Only the top five percent of applicants were successful. In turn, the flight program's gruelling regimen and examinations winnowed out the cadets, resulting in a graduation rate of between sixty and seventy percent. The fact that Han had made it as far as he had was testimony to his academic ability, his brilliance as a pilot and his determination to succeed at whatever he put his mind to.

"The Academy trained me, taught me to fly," Han explained. "In return, I sold off a few years of my life." He barked out a bitter laugh. "I thought I'd finally found something I needed. Something that I thought was missing from my life. Fuck, was I wrong."

Leia's face revealed only concern and consideration. "And Chewbacca's the reason why you..." she considered her words carefully "...left?"

She had a vague idea that Han had met or freed Chewbacca from Imperial slavery around the time of his desertion. This was yet another baffling piece to this man.

Han shrugged. "I'd already decided I was bugging out before I met Chewie. But we both got out together."

Leia rubbed at her neck, stared ahead distantly.

"Do you ever wonder how things might've turned out if you hadn't made the choices you did?" she asked.

"No."

His quick reply jolted her. "Not ever?"

She knew his opinion about the Force, how he didn't believe his destiny was controlled by anything apart from the whims of the _Falcon's _temperamental hyperdrive and the shifting faces of sabacc cards.

"Life happens, Leia." His face reflected his seriousness. "I try not to intellectualise about the reasons _why_ things happen. It's easier that way."

His answer was almost _too_ glib and well-practised.

"Easier?"

"It keeps me on the straight and level."

"You? Straight and level?" She shook her head in disbelief, amused at his impressions about himself and trying to chip through the sober mantle he had adopted, but he didn't share the joke.

"You mean if you don't think about things too hard your conscience doesn't get in the way."

"I jettisoned my conscience way back. Too much excess luggage weighs you down."

_Again, with the pilot-speak,_ she marvelled. _He's comfortable with the allusion of life to one expansive sortie, comprised of intricate flight manoeuvres._

Leia smiled at him coyly. "I think your conscience is about two metres tall with shaggy hair and blue eyes."

Han raised his chin defiantly. "Chewie doesn't tell me what to do. Nobody does and nobody ever will."

His voice assumed its mercenary timbre.

Concerned he was retreating back under cover, Leia added with an exaggerated air, "Oh, I don't know. I can see a day when you're a hen-pecked husband sitting at home looking after the children while your wife is off saving the galaxy."

His chuckle was unexpected, and Leia had a sudden desire to wrap her arms around him. She wondered just how far from reality her whimsical prediction about his future would be.

Grinning appreciatively at her teasing eyes, he told her, "I'd rather be neutered than give up my freedom. Besides, I can't see myself settling down. There's too much still left to do and see. Too much glitterstim left to smuggle, sabacc games to play—"

"Princesses to charm?"

The unsolicited suggestion had flown from her without further thought. His hazel eyes darkened, softened, and he stared at her intensely.

"Is that what I'm doing?" his voice rumbled.

His desire to move closer down the bunk towards her was palpable, but he stayed where he was, tensing, almost predatory. Heart thumping, Leia pulled her knees up, tucking the shirt around her feet. Her mind raced as she averted her eyes, a heady mixture of anxiety and excitement sweeping through her system.

"What about you, Leia? What are you gonna do when your war's over?

The question caught her off guard and stemmed her coursing emotions. She met his eyes again.

"Do?"

"Yeah." His easy smile was encouraging. "What do princesses do? Marry a nice young prince? Set up palace somewhere? Oppress the peasants?"

Leia ignored his sarcasm and focused on an answer instead of the heat that seemed to be radiating from him. When she was younger, she had dreamed of establishing a foundation to help those less fortunate than herself. However, her dreams to help the needy had been subsumed by political realities and a consuming passion to correct the injustices of the Empire.

"This war still has a long way to go," she told him as she tried to stretch her aching shoulder muscles. "We've barely made a dent in the Empire's armour. I don't know how long it will take us to recover from our defeat at Hoth. And yet despite these setbacks, the Rebellion will regroup and reconsider, formulate new strategies and continue chipping away at the Empire." She cringed briefly at the discomfort. "There's so much still to fight for and so much still left to do. I haven't even considered what I'll do when it's finished." Her gaze momentarily turned inward. "I doubt I'll even be alive by then."

"I think you'll outlive all of us, Leia."

She returned her attention to him and watched him absently rub a thumb across the scar on his chin.

"It's people like you that make things happen." His gaze was open and earnest. "You've got the strength, faith and conviction to see this out. You're a survivor, otherwise you wouldn't have made it this far."

He regarded her silently for a moment and she recognised what a compliment that was coming from someone who rarely praised anyone apart from himself.

She half-smiled and realised now more than ever that she wanted to make love to this man. Hazel eyes smouldered beneath hair that lay rumpled across his forehead. His broad shoulders rose slightly as he inhaled, his chest expanding and contracting. There was a perceptible movement of his larynx as he swallowed. An almost sculptured point where his shoulder met his clavicle. The blue trace of a vein through his biceps.

These were good points on her Han list.

"Besides, Princess," he said, "you're too stubborn to let the Empire win."

The tendons in her neck and shoulders jumped again.

"You're having real trouble there, aren't you?" Han asked. "I can fix that."

Leia raised an eyebrow. "I bet you can."

He grinned. "No, really, I can"

He was halfway down the bunk before she could protest.

"Han, I don't think…"

"That's it: don't think," he reasoned, his knee touching hers through the fabric of the shirt. "C'mon. You can trust me."

_But can I trust myself?_

He must have taken her silence as consent for her manoeuvred himself around her and with her back towards him, placed his long legs on either side of her. His hands moulded to the swell of her hips, pulling her closer towards him. Leia clasped her arms across her chest, her hands cradled the base of her throat and she was aware of her increased heart rate.

Han's fingers ran down the edges of her hair as he gathered her tresses in one hand, the knicks and work-roughened patches of his skin catching on the fine strands. He draped her hair over the front of her shoulder, fingers brushing against the back of her neck.

Despite his warmth, Leia found herself shivering.

"Besides, I don't bite," he said. "Not unless you want me to."

"Very droll, Han—ow!"

She gasped as he began massaging her narrow shoulders, strong fingers pushing into tight muscle. She squirmed at the immediate discomfort she experienced, automatically tensing against the pain and the warm touch of his hands. She tried to reason with herself that if she relaxed she would gain most benefit and maybe even enjoy it, but her stomach swirled with uncertainty.

"Damn, you're tense." His fingers kneaded the knots in her muscles. "Relax, will you. I promise I'll be on my best behaviour."

"Since when have you behaved yourself?"

Telling herself to relent and enjoy whatever he was offering, Leia was still very aware of how it would look if Threepio or Chewbacca or—Gods forbid—the Alliance High Command happened by.

Han was sitting too close to her, too _intimately_ close. His inner legs were touching the side of her thighs. She quickly reached over and touched the remote to close the door.

"Why, Princess," Han said in mock horror. "This is so sudden."

She elbowed him gently in the ribs and explained, "This doesn't look right."

"Feels great at this end. Now, relax, woman."

"I'm trying to," she said, but her arms remained firmly wrapped across her body.

"Here." He stopped the massage, his arms reaching around her shoulders, hands closing over the backs of her hands. His breath whispered through her hair. "Just let go for a minute." He pulled her palms from her throat, unwrapped her arms, placed her hands in her lap and then returned to massaging her shoulders. "There. That's better."

And she had to admit it was. His fingers worked into the stress she had built up in her shoulder muscles, stretching and smoothing it away. His hands were warm and strong through the fabric of the shirt. She closed her eyes as the tension ebbed away, but found her mind still refused to stand still.

"Why have you stayed with the Alliance for such a long time?" she found herself asking him.

From behind her he said, "You pay well. Any self-respecting smuggler wouldn't pass this up. And I guess I've been at a bit of a lose end. Nothing better to do, you might say."

"No other reason?"

She could hear the disappointment in her voice and wondered if he detected it as well.

Han's fingers moved up her neck, crunching against the vertebrae.

"If you give me some time, I'm sure I can up with something."

His thumbs slid down her neck, following the curve of her shoulders so that he was massaging the bare skin, his hands pushing past the loose collar of the shirt. Leia trembled as his fingers moved tantalisingly down her shoulder blades, up over the top of her shoulders and ever so slightly across the top of her chest. She was positive he would be able to feel her heart thudding beneath her sternum.

_I'm going through with this, _she thought. _For better or worse. Fuck it. What's the worst that could happen? What difference would it make?_

Her head lolled sideways as she arched her neck, assisting his efforts, absorbing the strength he rubbed into her shoulders. Her arms brushed against his legs and she rested her forearms on his thighs, her hands on his knees. Her fingertips caressed the Bloodstripe on the seams of his trousers and she glanced down, the red piping stark against the white of her fingers.

He edged closer to her and she felt his breath against the bare skin of her neck. Her eyelashes flickered, lips trembled, savouring the rush that threatened to overwhelm her. And then he softly kissed the nape of her neck.

Leia moaned at the unfamiliar caress and he kissed her neck again, his mouth warm, moist and slightly parted. Body tingling, she closed her eyes in anticipation of another touch from his lips. His hands were still on her shoulders, holding her steady, and he placed his open mouth further up her neck. A sensual desire stirred deep—thrummed—within her core.

She felt him slip even closer, his legs angled up around her, nearly gripping her as her hands slid back down to his thighs. Head bowed reverentially, he pressed his cheek against her neck and inhaled her scent. His hardness pressed into her hips and lower back as he moved his face up into her hair. She sensed the strength of his hunger for her, simultaneously thrilled and alarmed that he wanted her so much.

Han eased her shoulders back against his chest and she complied without hesitation. His breath was hot and sweet against her ear and she wriggled with delight.

"Do you want me," he whispered, "to stop?"

Leia slowly turned in his arms, found herself leaning against him, hands flat on his chest, her thighs straddling one of his. Her senses were heightened, invigorated and she was aware of everything about him. His intense stare. The heat and texture of his skin. His clean, fresh scent. His shallow breath. The buckle of his belt pressing against her stomach, competing with the evidence of his desire for her.

The ache between her legs throbbed insistently and she rocked gently on his leg, instinctively seeking relief. Her movements caused him to swallow deeply, the prominence of larynx bobbing in his throat.

Tentatively at first, Leia traced the line of his freshly shaved jaw with her finger, then down to the slash of scar across his chin. He kissed her fingertips as they brushed against his lips and she quivered with eagerness.

He copied the movement of her hand, his callused fingers soft around the edge of her face. His thumb stroked her lips, then he leaned down and kissed her softly, his mouth firm around her upper lip. Leia's eyes remained wide and open, returning his unwavering gaze. The kiss was delicate, exploratory, clarifying. He wanted her, it said, but at her pace.

Uncertain how to initiate another kiss, she glanced at his lips. He noticed the movement of her eyes and kissed her again, his mouth gently devouring hers, arms wrapping around her, holding her to him. She continued to watch him during the kiss, now surprised to see his eyes close in concentration. Leia gave in to her instincts and allowed her lids to shut, the action increasing her focus.

The taste of him seemed new and yet distantly familiar. Then his tongue pressed gently against her lips and into her mouth. She readily accepted the increase in intimacy and moved deeper into his embrace, pushing her fingers into his hair, her tongue slipping languidly into his mouth in reply.

There seemed no end to each kiss as their heads moved together, tongues probing and stroking, readjusting mouths when teeth bumped, and they synced into a rhythmic flow.

His hands found their way up under the shirt, moved up her sides and across her back, encouraging her mouth against his.

The swaying of her thighs against his leg increased, the rubbing causing her both relief and frustration as she wished she hadn't chosen to wear his underwear. The fabric of his trousers tantalised her skin and she found herself sliding higher up his leg until her legs straddled his hips. The thrumming of her core demanded reprieve and she pushed against the hardness of his groin.

Han moaned, momentarily broke away from the kiss as he mumbled her name. Then he moved so fast that Leia felt fleetingly overwhelmed. His mouth bit hungrily into hers as one hot hand groped for the softness of her breast, plucked at her erect nipple. His other grasped the back of her thigh, his palm and fingers spreading from her curve of her bottom to the inside of her leg, pushing her higher onto him before rolling her over half onto her side, half onto her back. His hand pushed roughly through her hair, brushing it aside to gain access to her neck. There were more teeth than mouth involved as he nipped down the length of her neck, across her throat and back up the other side.

She didn't know what to do with her hands, then found a place for them at the back of his neck and where she could also tug on his hair as the desire rolled through her in waves. Han's thigh glided up between her legs and Leia was not surprised it only made her want him more. She shifted her backside, angled her hips, widened her thighs and was rewarded with the firm pressure of his erection pressed firmly into her, and the maddening touch of underwear against trousers. Leia's growls of pleasure were with laced with frustration as she ground her hips against his pelvis.

In short order, Han had both hands fumbling to open the fastenings of her shirt or slip it up over her head, but he struggled to make headway as his lips refused to leave her neck, her mouth, her ear. Leia had stopped her own futile attempts to unbuckle his belt so she could remove the shirt herself when it hit her like a blow to the stomach.

_Luke..._

Her passion for Han extinguished as rapidly as it had begun. For an instant she had felt inexplicably linked to Luke. She felt his fear, confusion, anguish.

And then just as quickly, the link with Luke was gone. A cold dread remained, a foreboding presence ebbing towards her, a hazy blot in her future.

The air in the cabin had turned chilly and she realised that Han was no longer pressed against her body, her hands no longer held onto him. She hadn't even registered that she had closed her eyes until she quickly opened them.

Han had pulled away from her. He lay on his side, his eyes downcast as if unable to look at her, unable to hide his disappointment.

"Don't worry, Leia," he said quietly. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

Leia propped herself up on her elbows and realised how stiff and tense she had become. She felt cold and hollow, and a gaping hole seemed to have subsumed the desire that had previously surged through her. Had she had second thoughts about the propriety of her actions? Was that what this was about?

Han swung away from her, turned his back and slipped his legs off the bunk.

"I'll leave you alone," he said as he stood up. "I won't bother you again."

The hurt in his voice hit her almost as hard as the premonition she had felt earlier. Leia grabbed his wrist.

"Don't leave, Han," she pleaded. "Please. I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong. I shouldn't have..." She smiled at him weakly. _It's not you, it's me._ "Just stay for a while longer. Please."

He glanced down at her sceptically. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yes." She knew that much was true.

Those damn hazel eyes stared deep into her again, as if trying to determine the veracity of her response. Her hand moved down to his wrist, took his palm in hers and squeezed his fingers. The corner of his mouth twitched up into a half-smile as she drew him back onto the bunk. Holding her hand, uncertain what he should do next, he sat down next to her and stretched his legs down the length of the bunk. Leia instinctively snuggled up to his warm body.

"Just hold me," she whispered. "Please."

Han placed his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer, her body cradling the contours of his side. Leia murmured softly as she rested her face against his chest.

"No takin' advantage of me now, Princess," he lamely joked.

—o—

Something was tickling Leia's nose. She sleepily twitched her nose, drifted back to sleep. It tickled her again. She moved her hand up to rub at her face and felt warm skin beneath her fingers. She awoke with a start and raised her head slightly.

In the dimness of the cabin, she had fallen asleep in Han's arms, her head resting against his chest. The last thing she remembered was that she had been talking to him, describing her life as a princess and senator.

As he had listened, he had shown genuine interest in what she said, even offering his own impressions of her home planet from the one time he'd had visited its capital, Aldera. Somewhere in there she had grown tired and drifted off to sleep. Now she lay pressed up next to him, his arms around her, his head to one side as he softly snored.

Leia absently rubbed his chest hairs between her fingers and laid her head down again. Her thoughts returned to what she had been thinking only hours ago.

Had it only been a few days since the man in her arms had angrily stormed down the ice corridors of Hoth, intent on leaving both her and the Alliance behind? For good.

Days since she had vainly tried not to give his departure a second thought. And now...

The hairs on his chest tickled at her face again and Leia wriggled. The movement disturbed Han's sleeping pattern enough to rouse him. Leia quickly closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Han gently stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head, then drifted back to sleep again.

A small smile brightened her face. This was right. Her and Han. She still couldn't understand what had caused her to go from lascivious wench to cold fish in the matter of a heartbeat, but Leia and Han—that was right.

_The princess and the smuggler._ _It sounds horribly like some third rate holovid._

Leia listened to his heart beating slow and strong and a peace settled over her as she hovered between consciousness and sleep. Then the logical side of her, the part of her brain that never seemed to give her an even break, reminded her that she was going to lose him. But then logic insisted that Han wasn't hers to begin with, so how could she lose him?

As tempting as it would be to explore whatever was going on between them, perhaps it would just complicate things. Going their separate ways was no doubt for the best. Less difficult.

Sleep weaved across Leia's consciousness, ensnaring and tangling her thoughts as she lay safe within his arms.

_You make things so difficult sometimes._

_I do. I really do._


End file.
